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Some Bonuses

Here’s my painting, “Green Pot,” which did make it into the Still Life show.

Today I feel as if the world is my oyster, as far as what to write about. I’m tempted to give yet another update on the Poetry Share, as it’s gotten better and better as I’ve gone along. Then, my son is visiting from New York, and that is a joyful topic. But a goal I have for myself in writing these letters is to make sure they’re not too Facebook-y, so I won’t. Then, too, I have an update on the Still Life gallery exhibit at our local arts organization, an affirmation of my writing on Totality in which I struggled with the assignment. I struggled, that is, until I realized AGAIN that it’s always best to draw from within oneself for art, writing, and everything, really.

Then there’s piano teaching, which has become more and more lovely and fulfilling, with students of all ages. And then there’s pickleball, another joyful part of my life. The world is my oyster, of late.

The other day I was walking with Miles on the trail that so many of us love here in beautiful Columbia MO. We dawdled, as we do. Well, Miles is mostly searching around everywhere for a snack of some sort. Dandelion puffs, fallen dog treats, dried up worms, sticks, bits of bark. While the world is my oyster, it is Miles’ smorgasbord.

I was admiring the beautiful polka-dotted bluffs and as I looked up I saw a lovely little columbine growing out of the rock. So pretty! That made me smile, and of course I paused to take photos. Such a pretty little thing springing up out of a bunch of rock. I felt a wellspring of happiness.

Here’s a closer view.

Anyway, we’re dawdling along, ambling, you could say, with the wellspring and the smorgasbord and all–and a voice says, “On your left.” I turn. It’s an older man (my age, I presume), on foot, with a walking stick. Well, I smiled at the warning. I mean, he wasn’t on a bike, or even running. There was no danger. What could happen? I suppose he could have fallen on me or I on him, since we’re old, but we were both quite ambulatory. It just struck me as not only polite but funny. So I say, “How are you?” (I failed to offer a poem, though I had some on me, darn it.) He says, without slowing his pace at all and rather jauntily, the words fairly shooting out of his heart, “Top of the world! How are you?” So I say, “Same!” And we carry on, me with the wellspring, Miles with the smorgasbord, and the elderly gentleman with his walking stick.

What a moment! Two old strangers, senior citizens, you might say, meeting and greeting with that assessment of our lives–Top of the World! I thought, we are two lucky people, aren’t we?

So there you have it. All sorts of grace. Beautiful day, lovely walk, son about to visit, poetry, pickleball, piano, painting, and people. All of the important things in a little jaunty parade, marching through my life. It doesn’t get better.

Yes by William Stafford

It could happen any time, tornado,

earthquake, Armageddon. It could happen.

Or sunshine, love, salvation.

It could, you know. That’s why we wake

and look out – no guarantees

in this life.

But some bonuses, like morning,

like right now, like noon,

like evening.

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. If you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. And if someone forwarded this one to you, you can sign up here to receive the letters right in your Inbox. Finally, you’ll find past letters and poems here.

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”

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Daemons

I’m reading Philip Pullman’s latest novel, The Secret Commonwealth, the fifth book in his fantasy series that started with the trilogy, His Dark Materials. I love these books. One of the things I love most about them is that every human in their world has a daemon, an animal that is essentially a part of but at the same time apart from the human. Though they look and move about like animals, they speak, feel and think like humans. The pair are two sides of a coin. They are one, but two.

love this idea. Imagine! What might it be like to have a part of yourself as a physical being that you can hold, curl up with, talk and plan and mull things over with, share your deepest fears and feelings with–the closest companionship ever? In this volume, someone mentions with horror that in other worlds (ours), people go through their whole lives alone. That sentence gave me a jolt. Yes. We are essentially alone.

But then I do have my dogs.

There’s that joke about a person noticing their neighbor talking to a cat. And then it goes, “I went home and told my dog, and we had a good laugh about it.” I do discuss many things with my dogs, my heart’s companions. They are so tuned in to humans, and they have been for centuries.

Whenever I go out of town, I’m told, Miles gets a stomach ache; and I look for signs of him in the dogs I meet when I travel. I love Rufus very much, but Miles feels more like he could be my other half; and he pays very close attention to everything I say. The cynic might say he’s waiting to hear the word “treat,” but I like to think it’s more than that. We do love many of the same things–playing in the woods, messing about in water, lazing around on the couch, meeting new people and their daemons, taking fast walks around the neighborhood, even tearing paper! And eating. We both love to eat and we love treats!

Sadly, these sorts of daemons are only with us for a few short years. And that’s the difference and the heartbreak. Philip Pullman’s daemons are with their people for life.

“When we cannot bear to be alone, it means we do not properly value the only companion we will have from birth to death – ourselves.” – Eda LeShan

Here’s a vintage card, one that people interpret in wildly different ways from what I meant!

It’s nice for me to think of you out there, reading this. I hope you, too, have a sort of daemon, imaginary or real, to accompany you through your daily life. And if you don’t, I hope you can come up with one. Imaginary or real.

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. And if you like this letter, you’ll find past letters and poems here.

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”

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Pajama Day

We had freezing rain and ice covering everything one recent morning and I knew I would not want to drive to the woods with Miles and thought, really, I did not even want to risk walking on the icy streets. So I decided to have a Pajama Day. I was pretty excited about this idea, as I know people have them and I had always thought I would like to, too, if it weren’t for two dogs staring at me all day long. But now I had an excellent excuse. Not even Miles wanted to step out the door.

I turned up the furnace, had a second cup of tea, and sat on the couch under a thick wool blanket with the dogs, reading my new Mary Oliver poetry book. All very nice and cozy. Rufus liked it, as he likes to be on a soft surface (preferably a lap) in very close proximity to any available human.

“No animal, according to the rules of animal etiquette, is ever expected to do anything strenuous, or heroic, or even moderately active during the off-season of winter.” – Kenneth Grahame, The Wind in the Willows

But by noon or so, I really did not want to be in pajamas any longer. And then, by late afternoon, I was quite tired of being in the house and I told my brother, who has remained pretty much homebound since March, that I was going a little stir crazy. I am used to going outdoors multiple times a day. I’d even played pickleball in 30 degrees on New Year’s Eve. My friend and I always agree that even if it’s cold, we’re outside, we’re moving, having fun, and it’s wonderful to be doing all of those things.

The next day I went out with the dogs, though the day looked pretty much the same as the previous day, everything covered with ice, the sky solid white with cloud, temperature at 27 degrees. And yet, I felt a huge Ahhh as soon as we stepped out. Went to the woods and feasted my eyes on the icy everythings, pressed my cheek and my whole self to my big beautiful tree, and had a lovely ramble along the creek. Once again, I am reminded that, however the day looks from inside the house, it’s almost always nicer to be out in it.

“When you’re sad, Little Star, go out of doors. It’s always better underneath the open sky.”- Eva Ibbotson, A Countess Below Stairs

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. And if you like this letter, you’ll find past letters and poems here.

It’s nice for me to think of you out there, reading this. I hope you get outdoors as often as you possibly can this winter. As my friend Sally once said, “There’s no bad weather, only bad clothes.”

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”

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Obstacles

I am often struck by the sight of a tree that has grown over, through, and around a wire fence or other obstacle. Someone’s put up a fence and a tree that was either already there or has since sprung up has continued to grow in spite of the obstacle. That tree, determined to grow and evolve from seed to sapling to towering, thick-trunked being, has gone about its business and kept right on growing. I feel bad for the tree, but I admire its silent determination.

If seeds saw dirt as their enemy, they would lose out on the opportunity to grow. Matshona Dhliwayo

The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.
Martin Luther King, Jr.

The tree has, in a way, made that bit of fence a part of itself just as obstacles, faced and overcome, become parts of us. While the fence is most likely not good for the tree, the tree appears to be thriving in spite of it, just as we, too, are usually able to do. Think about it. You can probably name a few difficult things you’ve overcome. You likely haven’t forgotten them. You might be reminded of them every single day. Or you may still be working on them. Maybe they’re buried somewhere inside your being. In any case, they have probably changed you in some ways, possibly even for the better. And here you still are. You are the beautiful, imperfect you that you are because of all the people, things, and situation, “good or bad,“that you’ve encountered in life.

“If a flower perseveres through concrete, you can persevere through anything.”

– Matshona Dhliwayo

NM980 Fierce

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. And if you like this letter, you’ll find past letters and poems on my blog.

It’s nice for me to think of you out there, reading this. Whatever our obstacles are right now, and there are certainly many, I hope we all find ways to rise above and grow in spite of them, just like all those noble trees.

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”

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My Dance Card

The law of impermanence states that everything changes

the curve of the river the child the flower the state of grace.

Approaching the bluff today I, crestfallen, saw that the

fantastical dancing man, the luckily shaped branch of a fallen tree,

was gone, not just broken off but completely missing, no trace of him.

Only yesterday I’d rested happily in the thought that the woods are

ever changing, always fresh, rejuvenated every season, every day.

All well and good until the dancing man disappears without so much

as a by your leave, my dance card lying empty in the palm of my hand.

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Clutter

Saucha was our lesson today, a word

referring to purity of thought and body,

yogic cleanliness, clarity, orderliness.

A quick glance at my messy studio

reveals a distinct lack of the latter.

Piles of papers fill my desk, cover the printer,

lie upon, let me just say it, practically every

flat, semi or slightly flat surface therein,

preventing the use of a fan on these hot days.

Items I might need one day rest in various spots

hither and thither where, when the time comes,

I imagine I will either recall exactly where they are

or find them easily amidst the chaos,

a naive imagining oft proven false.

One day, I tell myself, I will have all of it

organized, put away, filed, ordered, the many

surfaces dusted, the potentially useful spaces cleared,

a soothing tabula rasa in which to work.  One day.

This pure thought lies mouldering in my cluttered brain.

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A-scampering

And so we trip along the paths of wood and meadow

taking in everything, the call of the pileated woodpecker

sending a ruffle of ahhhhh! through my body

the light in the trees the cool touch of the morning air

the rasping of cicadas, the scampering of my two dogs

the wild devotion with which they apply themselves

to this quotidian place as if they have never ever ever been

here before, as if every leaf and stem is brand new

as if Life itself has just this moment burst open in them

and sent them rocketing down the path.

 

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Not Exactly It

Sixty new things I said I’d do

in my sixtieth year now

a burden a chore an albatross

not the thrilling party I’d envisioned.

The fried pig’s head so unappealing

the various cocktails disappointing

the left side of the bed unsettling

my whistling ever yet sub par

the skydive still looming

and with five weeks left

forty-seven down, thirteen to go

the inner nagging does not let up.

What else what next what’s new?

I’ll try making marshmallows

dye my hair purple

learn fifty new words

and when at last this year is over

return to Life As Usual

no promise no pressure no pact

each new encounter a lovely surprise

undertaken for the sheer joy of it.